Her imperious yellow eyes met his over the crowd.

"Callis is besieged, your majesty. Surely you must know that these are no raiders. If they take Oranstone, Tallven and Seaford are next." There was a passionate intensity in Haverness's voice that forced Garranon to turn his attention briefly to the old general. When he looked back, the Tamerlain was gone.

"We are acquainted with the events to the south," agreed the king mildly. "But we are also acquainted with the marvelous abilities of Oranstone fighters. Why, I bet—" The ingeniousness of the king's voice made ice crawl down Garranon's neck. He kept his face blank, for there were too many people watching the king's pet Oranstonian for a reaction. "I bet that with a hundred men you could drive the raiders off yourself."

Haverness knew the king. He bowed low and started to say something, when he was interrupted.

"I'll take that bet," said a voice Garranon knew well, though he hadn't seen the king's bastard half brother in the room. Alizon Tallven sauntered to Haverness and patted his back. "Though I'd rather bet on Haverness's side. Fought against him in the last war, you know." Alizon might look the fop, but he'd been his father's general and military advisor when he was twenty-two.

The king settled back in his chair. The contrast between the two men was startling, especially since their mothers had been sisters. The king looked like all rulers should: strong-faced, gray eyes cool and measuring. He wasn't handsome, nothing so plebeian. His nose was narrow and aristocratic, with a knot where it had been broken once. His curly hair—entirely gray now, though Garranon could remember when it had been chocolate-brown—Jakoven kept cut in a short, military fashion.

Alizon, oldest of the last king's three sons, dyed his hair. Today it was a rich chestnut that spread to his shoulders. He was tall and wolf-lean, moving with comical grace. It was hard to imagine him leading an army. He had stepped down from his official post when his half brother ascended the throne. Personally, Garranon thought that was the reason Alizon had escaped the fate of Jakoven's youngest brother who was in the King's Asylum.

"You would like to bet that Haverness and a hundred can drive the raiders out?" asked Jakoven, amused.

"With the help of the Oranstone natives," agreed Alizon. "I think, too, that the choice of the hundred should be his alone."

The king chuckled, and Garranon leaned toward the belief that Jakoven was honestly amused. "What's the bet?"

"My war stallion against grandfather's sword."

Garranon saw the king tense with his first real interest. Jakoven had coveted Alizon's horse.

"Done," agreed the king. "Callis may choose any hundred men he wishes; if they can drive the Vorsagian raiders back behind their borders in the next six months, I will give you grandfather's sword. If not, you will give me the warhorse, Trueblood."

"Upon Haverness's acceptance, of course," murmured Alizon.

They had managed to turn the old warrior's plea to farce, thought Garranon, playing games with a man's honor.

"I accept your wishes as I am sworn to do." There was dignity in the old man's bearing. Garranon hoped that everyone saw it. Being of Oranstone was something to make him proud when there were Oranstonians like this. His father would have approved of Haverness.

"He's a brave man," murmured the king, looking at Garranon.

Horror knotted his belly, and a small voice inside started gibbering, The king knows, the king knows. But there was nothing for the king to know. He'd done nothing for Oranstone. The only thing the king could know that would harm Garranon was still secret: Only Garranon knew how much he hated the king.

"He has more courage than most." Garranon let admiration color his voice. "It is too bad that such a man is also a fool. He allows his love of Oranstone to blind him to the needs of the Five Kingdoms. Best to send him to Oranstone; he will never fight as hard for anything but his homeland."

Gratefully, he saw the king's sharp gaze grow bored, though Haverness flushed at being so described publically. Jakoven turned to his law-bringer. "Record the decision and Alizon's bet. Oh, give the man a week to make his choices and supply. We shall fund the supplies. When you are through, I will hear the next claimant."

While the king conducted the rest of the morning's business, Garranon studied the room, wondering if the world had ever been right and fair the way he'd once thought it was.

The sorrowful little tune drifted through his mind. Something he'd heard at an inn somewhere in that stupid chase for an elusive slave girl. Coward's hero. He liked that; it described him perfectly.

"Stupid of Jakoven to give the old bastard free rein like that."

The soft light of the moon only seemed to make the shadowed garden darker. Garranon turned his head, unsurprised to see the Tamerlain lounging on one of the decorative railings that served as support for a variety of climbing vines. The marble railing seemed to bow under the weight of the creature.

If she hadn't spoken, he knew his eyes would have passed her by, though she wasn't concealing herself. The brightly mottled fur, so startling in the daylight, blended perfectly in the junglelike shadows of the garden. A mythological, magical beast who'd showed herself to a frightened boy for reasons he'd never understood. Boredom, she'd told him when he'd asked.

The Tamerlain was the Guardian of Menogue, but no one believed in her anymore, especially since Menogue had been destroyed. She'd once said Menogue's fall had been fated, though her tail had snapped like an angry cat's while she said it. With travelers to Aethervon's broken temple so few, she interested herself in the doings of the Estian court and the king's Oranstonian lover.

"The king stupid? Why do you say that?" he asked, knowing that they were alone in the gardens by her relaxed manner.

She rolled over on the handspan-wide rail and twisted, rubbing her spine against the hard surface without losing her balance. "Why is it that Oranstone cannot defend herself against the Vorsag, though she's done it before?"

"Because the—" the progression of that thought caused him to hesitate briefly. " — the lords who should be at their seats are stuck here in Estian and have been since the end of the last war. But it's not that easy, Tamerlain. It's been fifteen years. There are no trained men on the estates, because we're not allowed to have armies. Most of the experienced lords were killed—then or by later mysterious means. The only reason Haverness hasn't fallen off his horse or been mistaken for a deer while he rides out in the woods is because there's not a duplicitous bone in his body. Not even a patriotic idiot would recruit him for an underground movement, because he'd tell the king as soon as the words reached his ears."

"Many men will follow him in war," she purred soothingly. "He is a hero—and perhaps not as absurdly honorable as you believe. And there are others here: you, for instance."

"He's not likely to choose me after I embarrassed him in public like that."

"Perhaps not," she allowed, flipping herself off the rail and onto her padded feet. Her claws clicked on the brick walk. "But your question was why the king is a fool. Think what will happen if Haverness succeeds with his hundred men. All of the Five Kingdoms will know that it was spite that made the bet. Everyone loves an underdog who triumphs. It might be enough to shake his grip on the throne. If I had been the king, I would have killed Alizon long ago. Intelligent men are dangerous."